On Stoats and Eau de Parfum
by Moreen Cafell
Summary: A collection of short fanfics, all pertaining to stoats or eau de parfum, or possibly both. This is my first stab at humor, so please forgive me if it isn't funny. R&R please! Rated K plus for language
1. Part One

On Stoats and Eau de Parfum

**To all you French or Parisian people out there, this _was not_ written to offend you.**

**Part One**

Author's note: I'm not quite sure what kind of a fanfic this is… but I hope you enjoy it!  
PS: This is my first stab at humor, so _pleeeeze _forgive me if it isn't funny.

A man and his wife are going out for dinner. The man waits outside the bathroom door, tapping his foot and waiting for his wife to finish getting ready. "Are you ready yet, Eunice?"

"Almost!" she says. Finally, the bathroom door opens, and Eunice steps through the doorway, accompanied by a smell. A kinda smelly smell. A smelly smell that smells like… something disgustingly smelly.

"Ugh! Eunice! What are you wearing?"

Eunice eyes the sleek black dress she has on. "You don't like it? I'll go change."

"Dot da bloody dress!" Carl shouts while plugging his nose. "Your flabing bloody perfube, or wadever you wadda call it!"

"My perfume? What about it?"

"What in flabing bloody hell is id?"

"Why, it's a strong concoction of Eau de Stoat (from Concentrate), of course!"

"Why id Blibey O'Reiley's bloody drousers would you wad do wear bloody Eau de Sdoad?"

"It's all the rage in Gay Paree, of course! And Carl, it would really help if you would unplug your nose."

"Damn." However, to humor his wife, Carl unplugs his nose. "Of course the people in bloody Gay Paree would come up with something as disgusting as a strong concoction of Eau de Stoat (from Concentrate). They're all flaming gay! That's why they're called bloody Gay Pareesians!" he mutters. To his wife, he growls, "Now I'm going to have a bloody stoat- induced headache every bloody flaming day for the rest of my bloody life!"

"Oh, no, dear," she simpers, "only until they change the style."

"And it'll take forever for the news to travel here!"

"Of course not, silly! Gay Paree is right down the street, at the beauty shop!"

"That's a bloody makeup brand, you flaming dolt! The real Gay Paree is in bloody flaming France!"

"France?" asks the thoroughly bewildered Eunice.

"Yes! Bloody France!"

Suddenly, the television in the sitting room turns on by itself. "A recent news report!" it says. "The fashionistas in Gay Paree have an announcement!"

At this Eunice runs into the bathroom and grabs the gigantic glass bottle of Eau de Stoat in which she had obviously bought and used too much of.

A Gay Pareesian comes into view on the telly screen. "A strong concoction of Eau de Stoat (from Concentrate) is now out of style. You must immediately smash the bottle onto your sitting room carpet and buy a strong concoction of Eau de Anchovy (from Concentrate) at your nearest local beauty shop!"

"See?" says Eunice, smashing her bottle of a strong concoction of Eau de Stoat (from Concentrate) into the sitting room carpet. It immediately let off a scent at least eleven times worse than what she had on. "I told you!"

"Great," grumbled Carl, "_now_ I get to have a _bloody anchovy- induced headache every flaming day for the rest of my bloody life_!"

"Oh, Carl, it won't be _that_ bad!"

"Yes it will, and because of your strong concoction of Eau de Stoat (from Concentrate), we have missed our dinner reservations and I will have to go hungry! Since we no longer have plans, I suggest you wash that thoroughly disgusting scent off."

"You're right!" exclaimed Eunice. "I can't _possibly_ wear a scent that's no longer in style!" And she rushed right back into the bathroom from whence she came.

So poor Carl was stuck sitting in the sitting room with the fumes from the smashed bottle of Eau de Stoat (from Concentrate) and a stupid fashionista from Gay Paree gabbing along about Gay Pareesian fashionista crap.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

Author's Note: Once again, if you are French, this was not written to offend you. (Or British, for that matter.)

"Daddy, I've decided," said Veruca.

"What did you decide, Popkin? Have you decided which car you want for your sixteenth birthday?"

"No, Daddy. I've decided that I want a stoat."

"A _stoat_?"

"Yes, Daddy, a stoat. And I want it _now_!"

"All right," said Mr. Salt, clearly flustered. "Daddy will get you a stoat as soon as he possibly can."

"But I don't want just _any_ old stoat. Daddy, I want a _trained_ stoat!"

"A _trained_ stoat! Now where in bloody hell am I going to find a trained stoat?"

"They sell them at the pet shop on the corner of Cherry and Main," Veruca supplied.

"But that store charges at least twice the price the damn animal should be bloody bought for!"

"But Daddy, don't you want me to be happy?" asked Veruca, her lower lip trembling and her eyes widening in puppy-like adoration.

Mr. Salt couldn't possibly resist his daughter's puppy eyes, or risk a tantrum in public. "The damn thing will have to be imported. It'll cost me an extra bloody arm and a leg to get one," he grumbled.

Hearing him, Veruca exclaimed, "Then cut off your arms and legs, Daddy, because I want a trained stoat _now_!"

Mr. Salt finally gave up and journeyed to the pet shop on Cherry and Main, called "Le Pet Shoppe". A very fitting name, actually, for they were all loony Frenchmen in there. He walked up to the store clerk, who said, "'Ello, Meester…"

"Salt," he replied.

"'Ow may I be of asseestance, Meester Salt?"

"I would like to order a trained stoat."

"Eexuse me? What ees zis 'stoat' zat you speak of?"

"A. Trained. Stoat. Do you have any?"

"I do not know of any aneemal called a 'stoat'. Pairhaps eet ees called by a deefraint name?"

"I don't know!" shouted Mr. Salt, quite flustered now. Alas, when it came to animals, he was not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.

"Do you pairhaps know what eet would look like?"

"Well, it's fuzzy and stoat-ish."

"Pleeze come weeth me. We may 'ave some aneemals like zat wheech you deescribe." He took Mr. Salt to a row of cages. "Zees ees Elbert. 'E ees quite companiable and nice and-"

"I'm leaving," said Mr. Salt.

He was promptly murdered upon arrival without Veruca's stoat.


End file.
